FUBARgenre: The Genre of Fubar

This morning, I found out that I broke up with Ephraim through a dream.

“That’s impossible,” he told me in that dream. “We’re not even anything.”

“That’s it. We’re nothing. What’s the point?” I supposedly answered back.

Astounded, or so the dream went, he goes, “It’s like a zoo. Or a museum, isn’t it? You go there once in a while. Not all the time. But you go. For fun, mostly. When you feel like it?”

And that was the end of it. Or so he thinks. He woke up before hearing me say:

“No. It’s like gourmet coffee. I don’t need to drink it. But I have to, to stay awake, or at least to keep myself afloat. I know it’s always there. Or at least a brief ride away. And while I constantly crave it, the reality of my life prevents me from taking big gulps all the time.”

Ephraim and I

I met Ephraim when I was a naive wreck of a girl masquerading as a woman (in other words, 16).

In a university full of perky, friendly faces, I zeroed in on the gloomiest creature I could find. He sat there in his white shirt and faded jeans, away from humanity, thinking himself very wise for finding the most obscure spot in the classroom.

“This guy needs a friend,” I must have thought then. But, more likely, I probably said to myself, “This guy is hot!”

Whatever the reason, he was the first person in the entire university whom I approached, introduced myself to, and instantly called my friend.

Little did I know that the friendship was not returned. He hated me. Hated everything that I was, everything that I stood for. His animosity confused me. It was a new experience entirely.

“You’re too nice,” was all he said. And he said it with disgust, as if I had committed some untold crime.

Confused and hurt, my reaction was not to accept defeat. On one hand, his hostility scared me. On the other hand, I found myself inexplicably drawn to his eccentric persona. So, I did everything I could to win his friendship.

He soon grew tired of trying to shake me off. Gradually, he began to tolerate me, and then eventually began to accept me. Grudgingly at first, and then wholeheartedly as time went on.

After the hazy days of our freshman year, reality set in. He shifted out of the sciences to pursue his love of the arts. We no longer had classes together. I met new people. We ran in different circles. Or, more aptly, I did. He never liked crowds, that guy. I was the party animal; he was always the wall flower (if he cared enough to show up in parties, that is). I acquired a vast collection of friends, while he shunned just about the same number of people. I excelled at bringing laughter and sunshine into conversations; he stood out as the bringer of darkness and gloom. Our friendship was an irony that stood out in a world run by stereotypes.

But for some reason, it worked. Always, we found time for each other. Taking strolls around the campus at 6 in the morning. Sitting in that old stone bench in front of the main library. Unwinding with a book in the sunken garden. Pretending to be all grown up by arguing about religion, politics and whatnot.

One afternoon, I dared ask, “Why did you hate me so much?”

I think he may have fumbled in his reply. But I prefer to remember it this way:

“You were trying too hard.”

“Trying hard to do what?”

“To make everyone like you.”

“…”

“I wanted you to realize that it’s okay. …It’s okay for people to not like you.”

And so I learned.

Since then, Ephraim has been the one person I turn to whenever I need perspective. Ironically, he is just as lost as I am. Perhaps even more so. But always, he finds the strength to draw from his bottomless pool of profundity to give me calm. Quiet. Serenity. Perspective. Gourmet coffee.

In my youth, as I flitted in and out of brief flings, Ephraim was the only boy I really loved. And that love, unhampered by romance or sexual desire (I’m the wrong gender), has grown stronger through time.

We may not always be together, E. We may not always talk or see each other. But you’re always in my heart. Know that even in my silence, I am thinking of you.

And know this: you’re the only man in this world that Mark is willing to share me with.

I’ve missed you, E. And I love you. I am definitely not breaking up with you.